


it looks like you were right again

by orphan_account



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Ah king au, Frottage, M/M, i guess theyre all sort oc-ish haah, king AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 07:57:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3373760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before he had left, Theresa had cupped dirt into her hands and whispered into it. He hadn’t known what she did, but she shoved the dirt into one of his pockets and kissed his forehead for the last time. “The God will lead you to our salvation,” she had said, and then grandmother had kissed his cheeks and stepped back next to Theresa. They watched him go, until he was too far for them to see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it looks like you were right again

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a short drabble bc these are my 2 faves of the cast of characters i created, but instead i launched into a 11k self-indulgent mess.   
> this story is part of something bigger but idk when ill ever get around to starting it, especially with my other (unfinished) story rip.... UHH this is NOT like any other king au probably, i saw my chance to remove my own guilt towards rpf so i took it. this wasnt supposed to turn into the monstrosity it became, so the world is still sort of bare in spots. naming conventions follow a late roman formula that i tweaked for my own purposes, any feedback is welcome and appreciated <3

324

Michael Jones Jason was raised in the woods. His mother Theresa raised him among the rest of the family, though he barely knew his father. Michael Jones Lycus died two years after his only son was born. He was entertained with stories of valiant knights that bore his family name, he was lulled to sleep with stories of peace and prosperity in big castles, he was frightened by stories of family hunts. His grandmother leaning in close and telling stories of Michael Jones Bion and Michael Jones Silvester and Michael Jones Hector hiding the family among the moss and vines as they fended off hunting parties. Her words piling onto his back and his destiny decided long before he was even born.

Theresa was a goddess, or ought to be. Her long fingers combed Jason’s hair into something nice and she shoved a scroll with a language Jason didn’t know into his bag. Her fiery locks fell in front of her face and Jason had never been sure if the stories she told were true or not. Her arms locked him tight in a hug and she whispered the Narvaez story.

She told Jason of Ray Narvaez the Older being the right hand man of the creator, of his spells that defined the land and formed the people. Geoff Ramsey, she said his name like a prayer, was everywhere she crooned, her arms dropping and her fingers sinking into the dirt. His grandmother had murmured things to Jason once about Theresa being a priestess before she was banished from the city.

“ _That woman tried to curse the kingdom_ ,” her breath blew over his face and Jason was too young to really understand.

Now, Theresa told Jason of Ray Narvaez Eutimio, avenging the God and getting stabbed in the back for it. Her eyes blazed with anger as he heard of the crime his own ancestor had committed.

“Michael Jones Lowell was wrong, but right. Eutimio couldn’t lead like his father. Couldn’t lead like the God.” She would say something under her breath and kiss her pointer finger every time she said _the God_ or _Geoff Ramsey_. “But he doomed them; he doomed that bloodline to eternal suffering.”

Jason was only a kid, he could feel himself shaking. Theresa spoke of stories that grandmother had only hinted to, the stories that Theresa would hiss at grandmother for beginning. She talked of the Narvaez family being exiled away by Lowell. She told him of the grandness of their new kingdom deep in the desert. She said they were successful and rich, that they still had mage blood in their veins and were too good to die. She said that they were a well-known secret in the kingdom, that the Haywood’s knew of it, but couldn’t infiltrate it.

“They did once, though, and the curse that we laid on them destroyed most of the family,” she said, and her stare sunk into Jason’s bones. “Ray Narvaez Dimas, Ray Narvaez Ismael, Ray Narvaez Inocencio, Ray Narvaez Iztal, just a baby, and the Haywood assassins found them. Their heads were brought back on pikes, Michael Jones Bion’s brothers and sisters and mother all died and were paraded around town by Haywood loyals, as well.” Jason was tearing up; this was too much for a kid. Grandmother was rubbing a hand across Theresa’s back, she looked horrified herself.

He was then enthralled by Ray Narvaez Macario’s story, of his mother hiding him in a fountain and then getting a handmaiden to hide him in the city. That handmaiden raised him after the entire bloodline was wiped out. His mother was dead, his grandmother dead, his sibling dead, his father and grandfather and great-grandfather dead. That desert kingdom still prospered though, the massacre only made them stronger. Macario grew up and the city looked to him as if he were a God.

Theresa glanced at the sky then, it was lightening with the first rays of the morning sun. They were on the edge of the forest, the land flattening out beyond them into the horizon. The trees casting shadows over them. Michael Jones Jason had thick, dull red hair like his father, he had his mother’s green eyes, he had his grandmother’s sharp nose, and he had his family’s strong jaw. His skin was a milky white that would tan darker, but showed the family’s noble blood.

“You must find them, Jason,” Theresa sighed then, her story ending. “We only know of Macario, but that was a century ago.” Jason stood from where he sat, his fingers hiking the bag further up on his back.

“Find them, Jason, and bring the kingdom hope.”

325

Before he had left, Theresa had cupped dirt into her hands and whispered into it. He hadn’t known what she did, but she shoved the dirt into one of his pockets and kissed his forehead for the last time. “The God will lead you to our salvation,” she had said, and then grandmother had kissed his cheeks and stepped back next to Theresa. They watched him go, until he was too far for them to see.

Jason had no directions, he had been given a bow and a sword fit for a kid and food shoved into his pack. He had been trained, of course, his uncle had sneered about how any self-respecting Jones could hold himself in a fight from age three. His aunt had taught him how to survive in any conditions. He was good for the first few days. Hitting the desert, though, that was like hitting Hell.

He many times lay in the sand, the sun blistering hot across his too fair skin and his throat too dry and his stomach too empty. He’d fall asleep, resigned to the death of his family because of his own mistakes. Thoughts far too heavy for any kid. Later, he would wake up and the bitter chill of the night would shush his blazing skin and the dirt in his pocket felt a thousand times heavier, pulling him a direction. He would find food and water then, and his mother never taught him any prayers so he made up his own.

Godly intervention made him more grateful than he ever thought he would be. His grandmother had always rolled her eyes when Theresa spent hours talking about how the God was in every corner of the world and how He would be back someday. Now, Jason thought he agreed with his mother.

He had no idea what day it was, or if he was a year or two years older, or how long he’d been walking, but the familiar pressure of the dirt in his pocket was beginning to feel like a burden. Every time he took a step it felt like it grew two pounds heavier. Jason would sit in the sand and yank out the scroll his mother had given him. Frustration coursed through him each time he looked at it. The language was something he couldn’t read, it was beginning to show how much Jason looked at it, too.

The kingdom he found was a spectacle. The dirt was as heavy as a boulder, it seemed, and it only got heavier the closer to the doors he stumbled. They were wide open, and a road was streaming people. Jason stood off to the side of it for a while, marveling at the people he saw. The only people he had ever met back at the forest were people of his family, or people they picked up from outside the kingdom who were banished. They never looked very different, but this was a whole new world.

Jason saw different variations he had never dreamed of, he saw wares he had never known were real. Eventually, the dirt’s weight disappeared. It made walking easier, so Jason melted into the stream into the kingdom. Yellows and golds and bright reds and bright blues made the city gleam. The other kingdom was earthy and melted into the surrounding land. This one stood out and shined from the surrounding sand.

Jason was the weird one here, he knew because people kept giving him curious looks. He knew nothing of this city, or where to find the Narvaez family. Wandering only got him lost, and he could feel eyes on him all the time. At first, he just thought it was because he was a new face, but when he turned the corner into a wider center, he saw what made everyone look at him funny.

A huge wall was across the center from where Jason entered. People were lounging on the brick ground in the middle, a few fountains around where the ground went down into an apparent resting area. The fresco on the huge wall though, it was bright and popped from the dull beige of the brick.

On top, a man with dark hair and green robes held a sword downwards, his eyes were downcast and dark. A golden crown sat on top of his head, and Jason knew who He was only because his mother never stopped talking of the God. Grandmother had once joked that Theresa loved the God more than she ever loved Lycus. He was as Theresa had always described, his green robes were the shade of the forest and his skin looked sickly grey—though that might have just been a fresco thing.

To the right of the God, was the reason people were giving him looks. The man was facing the east, his bear furs clasped around his neck and his robes brown and yellow. The clasping on the bear fur was bright blue, and his hand was against his chest where his heart would be. His hair was dull red, his jaw was strong, his skin the milky color of Jason’s. His hair curled in ways Jason’s didn’t, but Jason knew who this was. Lowell. Grandmother said that the curls had died out after Silvester, and that they had always had traditionally brown eyes until Jason himself.

To the left of the God was a darker skinned man, his robes were straight black and he had the same cape as the God, speckled white fur that hung off the shoulders. Though, this one’s cape was visibly red while the God’s was a duller green. The man facing west had gloves on, and he was holding a rose. His crown was more elaborate than the others, red and gold, and his head was tilted upwards while the God’s and Lowell’s were tilted down. This must be Eutimio, he figured, because that was the only Narvaez king, and people had shoved flowers, roses, into the cracks of the wall and fresco where he was.

The man on the bottom was in similar black; except it had brownish-red lowlights and he had no cape. His hand was pointing to the east, at Lowell, and his eyes were closed. He was facing the same way as the God, except his mouth was curved into a menacing smile. His crown was the same as the man who rode through the forest sometimes, when Jason always had to hide in the bush with his mother and the rest of the women and kids.  It was gold and spiky, different from the God’s and Lowell’s in how it looked more lethal. Jason didn’t know if it was Hirah or Ira, Hirah made more sense because he was around when Eutimio and the God were, but Ira had to be far more hated in the kingdom. Whenever anyone passed the fresco they spit onto the person on the bottom, so really Jason could only guess.

He was too focused on the fresco to pay attention, and he only glanced behind him when he heard the unsheathing of a sword. Theresa hadn’t said outright they would be hostile to him, she probably didn’t think anyone would figure out who the dull red hair strong jawed kid is, but she made it clear that the Jones family royally screwed the Narvaez family. Jason jumped, and held his hands out to the cluster of swordsman. They had dusty-colored lightweight clothing draped over them, a belt cinched their middles and it had their sword sheaths. They all had hoods, also, though they didn’t entirely cover their faces. To make fighting in the sand and sun easier, probably.

The lead one narrowed his eyes, and spoke loudly. It was in a language that Jason didn’t know, so he stared blankly. The leader swallowed and frowned, then looked at the ground briefly.

“Who are you?” It was lightly accented, and he had to piece the words together, but Jason understood now.

He frowned back at the leader, because he didn’t know if they would kill him on the spot if he said _Michael Jones Jason_ , so instead he just said, “Jason.” The men glanced at each other and the leader sheathed his sword. They all exchanged some words, and Jason looked down at himself. Just a fool. His arms and hands were sunburned, his face too, most likely, and his clothes were the same browns and yellows that Lowell wore in the fresco. Theresa hadn’t seen this happening, even though she should have.

The leader grabbed Jason’s shoulder then, and marched him in front of them. They were going deeper into the city, and all eyes were on them. They walked for what seemed like half an hour, and the whole time the castle Jason hadn’t noticed before was getting bigger. It was rather modest, nothing like the castle grandmother and his mom described to him all the time. This one was golden and shined like a jewel, the doors were open and people came and went. How they had avoided assassins was a mystery to Jason.

Stepping into the castle, Jason’s eyes swept over everything. It was a whole new world to him. Large murals hung on the walls of men and women Jason didn’t know, and people milled about in the main room. He was directed to a room on the side, though when he was shoved in he could tell it was a throne room. And he could also tell it was empty.

He sat in there alone for a long time, to the point he pulled out the scroll to try and keep himself entertained. The doors clicked loudly, and Jason jumped back up so he was standing. Different guards came in this time, they were dressed in a more traditional knight look, except it was lighter weight and they only had the chest plate on. About five were clustered around an older man who was clearly the king and a younger man by his side. Two guards entered after the cluster and stood on either side of Jason, another one shutting the doors and stopping the crowd from getting a better look in.

Jason’s shoulders were clasped again and he was walked up closer to the throne. The older man was sat on it and the younger stood to the side and slightly behind the seat. The scroll was still clutched in Jason’s hands, and he figured he needed to give it to them. Standing up, the old king placed a hand over his heart.

“Son, who are you, and be truthful, we will figure it out.” He boomed, his voice projecting across the room and deep into Jason’s skull.

Jason shifted a little, fully aware of his age and youth. “…I’m Jason,” he finally said, clenching the scroll unconsciously. The king’s eyes caught the movement and he sat back down, his hand waving for the scroll. A guard stepped from next to the king and walked over; Jason gave him the scroll and let his arms drop pathetically. The king squinted at the scroll for a bit, the younger guy reading over his shoulder. Finally the king stood again, he rubbed his face and sighed.

“Michael Jones Jason, your family hurt ours. Do you understand this?” It was a different tone now, the talking to a child tone. The younger guy was frowning.

Jason just nodded in response; he was starting to feel overwhelmed. The younger guy made a noise from behind the king, and the king turned a little to see him.

“Father—“ The king held up a hand to silence him.

“Vasco, por favor,” he beckoned Jason forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t make me regret this, like your ancestor made ours regret it.” Jason nodded, and bowed his head a little. Vasco, the king’s son, evidently, huffed. The king stepped down and past Jason, the others following. Jason followed too, because he didn’t know what else to do.

They exited through a side door, bypassing the crowd. “You people from that kingdom always look so different. Especially noble blood, we carry more age in our faces. How old are you, Jason?” The king asked, leading them through winding hallways.

“11, I think,” Jason said.

“You think?” Vasco repeated, accusingly.

“ _Vasco_ ,” the king chided again, then, “you think?”

“I’ve—it’s been a long journey.” Jason sighed.

“Only a few years older than my Sergio, then,” the king smiled back at Jason. And Vasco huffed again.

335

Jason learned a lot of things in the sand kingdom. The whole city worked different than he had ever experienced, and when he was 15 he got put on guard duty. They fought in a way Jason had never seen before and training had been hard. Reluctantly, he allowed them to give him a new sword and a new bow, each were in the sand’s style. He adapted them to the Jones style, but it took time.

Sergio was younger, which was mainly an annoyance. Vasco was too old for Jason to hang out with, and he didn’t like Jason anyway. Sandalio was a king, and _way_ too old to hang out with. Sergio and Vasco were brothers, Vasco to inherit the kingdom and Sergio to…do whatever second kids do. Lycus had siblings; Jason just knew they never filled the shoes the way Lycus had.

They spent several years together, Sergio acting as Jason’s translator and teacher, Sergio vouching for Jason when people doubted him, Sergio soothing Jason’s homesickness with stories that Sandalio told him. Jason wasn’t sure what he gave back to Sergio, friendship, maybe. Sergio never ran out of patience for him though, even when Jason grew irritable and frustrated.

“You have the temper that your family is famed for,” Sergio grinned at him one day when they were both teens. Jason rolled his eyes at his words and glanced back down at the sword he was sharpening. Sergio and he were sitting in a shaded portion of the castle, facing out into the desert. Jason was in his casual wear. A simple pair of pants and a light tunic, his shoes were boots that sank into the sand. Sergio lounged on a chair across from him, his clothes fancier with embroidery and better material. His hair was dark and fell in choppy sections around his face. His eyes were a deep brown that saw too much.

“How would you know, I’m the only Jones you’ve ever met,” Jason snorted, examining his sword and sliding his eyes over to Sergio.

“I’ve heard stories,” Sergio said, his arms stretching out over his head and he went boneless into the chair. “Lowell was apparently very explosive.” Jason set his sword down, turning to look more fully at the other teen.

“You ever hear anything about any Jones after Lowell?” It came out sharp, and Sergio narrowed his eyes at the tone of it.

“You ever hear anything about any Narvaez after Eutimio?” And Jason had to swallow hard and stare at the floor.

“I’ve heard about Macario,” Jason said instead, turning back to the sword. Sergio sighed and Jason could hear him stand. He felt when Sergio was behind him, and arms wrapped around his neck.

“No one ever remembers Alfonso,” Sergio said into his ear, “no one remembers César.” Jason leaned back into the other and sighed through his nose. Sometimes, Sergio knew him better than he knew himself. Knew when he was lashing out. Knew how to make him refocus.

“So,” Jason said, setting the blade down, “are you going to tell me about them, then?” And he could feel Sergio’s grin against his skin.

 

When Jason hit 21, he knew it was time for him to do something. He was growing out of this castle, and he was missing what he knew even more. Maybe he had shown too much of that in his face, maybe he had looked too wistful at times. He didn’t know, but later, while he was facing his window with the light blanket over his hips, he didn’t make a move to do anything when Sergio came in.

They did this too much, Sergio coming into his room and curling up next to him, they’d done it since Jason had shown up. As they got older, Vasco had started becoming more and more critical of it. They hadn’t done anything, it was just a comfort thing.

This time, though, Sergio didn’t crawl into the bed. He opened a bag in his hand and started pawing through some of Jason’s chests.

“Hey—what the fuck?” Jason said, sitting up and leaning so he was closer to batting-Sergio-away-range.

“Shut up,” Sergio commanded, stuffing the bag with clothing and tossing it to Jason. “We’re leaving.”

“Where the hell do we think we’ll go?” Jason asked, rolling off the bed and yanking on a shirt, he stepped over to Sergio and clasped both hands on his shoulders. Sergio wasn’t as strong as Jason, maybe better in everything else, but not better in brute force. Sergio tried to shake off the hands and glared at Jason.

“Stop this,” Sergio snapped, “we’re going to your kingdom.”

Jason was about to protest, loudly, when Sergio kicked his shin, hard.

“I know you want to go back there,” Sergio whispered, leaning in closer and touching his forehead to Jason’s. “You never read the scroll; it was asking my dad to come back, asking for help.” Jason opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, closed it. He hadn’t ever read the scroll, his Spanish was bad and he didn’t even know where Sandalio put it.

“Fine,” Jason relented, because Sergio had him wrapped around his finger and because he _did_ want to go back. The forest was his home, his mother was there, his family was there, and the kingdom was theirs to take.

Sergio grinned at his triumph, his teeth showing a little, and he surged forward. The kiss was incredibly awkward and crappy, Sergio more-or-less just hit his face against Jason’s, and their teeth clicked together. Jason jerked away from the contact, eyes wide, and Sergio’s smile fell a little. He shook it off though, breaking Jason’s hold on his shoulders and grabbing his own bag off the floor before jogging back out the door, pausing to motion for Jason.

And, Jason was still standing in the same spot, feeling like he was lost. He—Well—They—It was just, hard for him to process. The society they lived in was staunchly conservative, things like that most likely did go on, sure, but it was always a deeply hidden secret and—Jason just—he wasn’t sure. The age difference didn’t bother him, people had done worse, but he felt stupid almost, like he was just a puppy following his master around or something. He couldn’t articulate it, and Sergio jogged back in the room because Jason was still rooted in one spot.

“Come on,” Sergio hissed, shouldering Jason’s bag and grabbing a fistful of Jason’s shirt to yank him along behind him. “I snatched one of Vasco’s maps, we have to get to the kitchens and grab some sort of food and water before we leave.” Sergio was significantly less pleasant than just a minute ago, his smile was gone and he looked angry. Jason felt that was probably his fault.

They raided the kitchen, stuffing the bags with as much food as they could. They grabbed a couple of water canisters and Jason followed Sergio back up to Sergio’s room. It was bigger than Jason’s and it had paintings of ancestors and paintings of the sand kingdom hung up around it. Tapestries colored the wall where paintings weren’t hanging, and his bed was large. Sergio pushed out onto the balcony, glancing up and around. He stumbled back a step into the room, bumping into Jason, who began to question him before Sergio pressed a sweaty hand to Jason’s mouth.

Pulling off the bag and canisters, Sergio stepped back out onto the balcony and Jason heard Vasco’s voice call out. “¿Qué haces, Sergio?” They had a rapid-fire conversation Jason didn’t quite catch all the way, Vasco asked Sergio a bunch of questions about something and Sergio answered them, Vasco made fun of Sergio for something and Sergio told him to go away.

Sergio lounged against the edge of the balcony for a bit, and then he looked around again. Turning, he stepped back into the room and picked up the stuff he shed. “We have to go fast,” he said, letting his eyes wander over Jason. Frowning, Sergio moved over to the dresser he had and yanked out some kufiya’s. Wrapping one around Jason’s head, Sergio pocketed a couple of other ones. He finished wrapping his own and then walked back over to the balcony.

The escape plan was pretty bad, they had to jump from Sergio’s balcony onto the wall and then onto the sand below the wall. If they stumbled on the wall they’d crash over to one side and either land bad in the sand or land bad on the brick of the castle sidewalk. Sergio went first, did it perfectly, and then stepped back from the wall below to wave Jason on. Right about now Jason was wishing he had that dirt from ten years ago back. He was feeling very, very, very skeptical.

Jumping to the wall was the easy part, it turned out. Everything he was carrying clattered loudly and he froze, but Sergio was making frantic ‘come on!’ motions. His jump down to the sand elicited a loud grunt and he rolled down the sand dune and right past Sergio. Fuck. When Jason finally rolled to a stop, staring at the sky, he could hear Sergio cursing and running down towards him.

“You—massive—fucking—idiot!” Sergio was saying, sliding to a stop next to Jason. Hauling him up into a sitting position, Sergio put the bag he dropped back on him, re-wrapped the kufiya, and re-attached the canisters. Standing Jason up, Sergio glanced back at the castle. It was dark and no one had yelled yet, so they were off to a good start. “Come on, we still have to go around the kingdom.”

Their trek started off great. They made it far on the first day, and then Jason’s chronic sun problems started kicking back up. His clothing was light, and his arms and chest weren’t exactly covered. A month in, Sergio dug out their clothes and tried to fit Jason into one of his more covering shirts. Sergio was smaller than Jason though, and all he ended up doing was ripping it. Sergio used part of his water to try and sooth Jason’s skin, but it didn’t help as much as he hoped. They hadn’t bothered to pack a tent, something Jason moaned about for a while until Sergio threatened to cut out his tongue.

Most of the time, it would become night and Jason would lay on the still hot sand next to Sergio and say all of those prayers he had made up that year he walked through the sand. The divine intervention seemed to have been run dry that first trip though, because Jason wasn’t getting any help. Surely, if Sergio wasn’t with him he would have died. Sergio had grown up in the desert, he knew where to dig through the sand and how to handle the sun and how to maximize their travel time.

They continued the awkwardness they had picked up in the castle. Sergio’s mood turning from ambivalent to downright sour. Jason was reliving the worst year of his life, so he didn’t focus on it. After maybe two more months, Sergio seemed to get out of his funk.

They had started a system, the clothes they packed would be laid onto the sand, and then they would use extra clothing as a sort of cover. Sticks they broke off from an oasis they had stopped at would hold up the extra clothing to form a makeshift tent. It wasn’t much, but it was better. It was too cold outside during the night for them to give each other any kind of distance, but it worked if they just ignored what happened.

Until Sergio stopped ignoring it.

Jason was on his back; because that was the only way he could sleep without waking himself up from touching his burns. Sergio was silent next to him, his head tucked against Jason’s shoulder and his body right up against Jason’s arm and leg. It provided comforting warmth, something to offset the warmth from his burns. His bones felt tired, they had walked for a long time today, and he only ever got fitful sleep anyway.

Sergio sat up abruptly, and Jason cracked an eye open to watch him. He sat there for a little bit, and Jason closed his eyes again, assuming he would either say whatever he had to say or go back to trying to sleep.

He certainly didn’t expect Sergio to straddle his hips and plant his hands on either side of his head.

It was very kind of him to not touch his burned chest, yes, but Jason knew where this was heading and he didn’t know how he felt about that. Opening his eyes, Jason stared up at Sergio. Sergio was biting his lip and his eyes were closed. Jason’s reservations were mainly in that, they were supposed to continue the bloodline, he couldn’t get attached like this to someone who couldn’t—he’d never be able to, it just wasn’t _right_.

Sergio kept his eyes closed, but he lowered so his forehead was touching to Jason’s. His breath blew over Jason’s face in a way that reminded him too much of the kind comfort his grandmother would give him all those years ago with stories when he was too scared to come out of the moss and vines. He didn’t appreciate the connection his brain made there, he was too scared to do this, but it wasn’t the same.

“Listen,” Sergio murmured, their noses bumping together. “Vasco used to tell me stories about the Haywood’s. We’ve always been the gossip family, I guess. Little tales and things that were passed down from generations. We lost a lot of them after the massacre, but we still have some. César predicted things, he was a military strategist, you see, and he knew the Haywood’s would never settle without destruction of their weak points. He had some of the more…” Sergio pauses, licks his lips, continues, “… _intimate_ stories written down. They’re all in Spanish; no spy from the kingdom has ever been able to crack that embarrassingly simple language.

“This isn’t about you people and your bad language skills though, this is about the one story we have guarded the most. Do you ever wonder why they come after us so much? Why would Lowell feel so compelled to protect the Haywood’s? How come the Narvaez family was exiled, how come we were so dangerous we needed to be exterminated?” Sergio uses his next pause to press his lips to Jason’s cheeks, exhaling deeply and giving Jason time to process.

“When Ryan Haywood takes the throne, he is uncontested. The people, including the Grand Master Narvaez, are not happy, but they allow it. It isn’t until Eutimio that the people fight back against the Haywood’s. Our most guarded story is about Eutimio. It’s about how Eutimio got close enough to Hirah to slit his throat. A very scandalous story, we don’t tell just anyone about it.” He pauses again; punctuating the end of the sentence with a thrust against Jason, Jason nearly goes cross-eyed.

“Eutimio was Hirah’s lover. Has anyone ever told you where Hirah was killed? In bed. In the bed he and Eutimio shared. Micah was Hirah’s kid with some woman his family married him to, he did not spend much time with her, he spent more time with Eutimio.” Sergio pauses again, except he looked like he was collecting himself. “Lowell and Micah saw it as Eutimio casting spells on Hirah, that’s why Lowell turned on Eutimio. That’s why our families ended their centuries of friendship. That’s why the Haywood’s have it out for us.

“They still see us as evil, exotic sorcerers casting spells on good men and turning them into slobbering dick slaves.” Jason frowned at the bluntness of the sentence, but—in a weird way it had comforted him. Not in a fuck-yeah-kill-the-homosexual-way, but in a you’re-not-weird-for-liking-another-boy way. Sergio was no dictator, Jason was no dictator, what were the chances they would slash each other’s throats in the night? If other kings had done it—

Sergio’s story had ended, evidently, because when Jason swam his way back to the now instead of thinking of his worries Sergio had opened his eyes and pulled back to see Jason. He licked his lips again and the voice he used sounded ragged. “Please?”

And—God, Jason hoped the God would forgive him for whatever sin this might be. He hoped his mother wouldn’t find out and judge him. He hoped they weren’t wrong, he hoped they would last, he hoped he could extend this desert night. One of his burnt arms moved and clasped the back of Sergio’s neck and he gave Sergio a _real_ kiss. Nothing like the mess of a kiss they had shared those months ago in Jason’s bedroom. Jason wasn’t well-experienced, but he was more experienced than Sergio. The other’s fingers fumbled at the strings to Jason’s pants until Jason had to pull away from the kiss and lend a hand.

Sergio’s chest was heaving and Jason used the free hand he had to also undo the strings on the younger man’s pants. Quicker than Jason though, Sergio slid a hand into Jason’s pants and wrapped his warm fingers around Jason’s length. He groaned embarrassingly loud and arched his back into it, which made his chest sting but—this was a lot happening.

The night falls away from Jason then, he remembers getting his hand on Sergio’s cock and he remembers the noises they made, he remembers Sergio holding their dicks together and thrusting. They spilled messily onto Jason’s stomach, Sergio only barely keeping himself off Jason’s burned skin with an arm, and he sank to the side and nearly knocked the makeshift tent over with his head. Jason had the best sleep of his whole damn life that night; he woke up in the morning when Sergio wiped his stomach down with a shirt he had poured some water on.

“Come here,” Jason mumbled, lifting an arm and motioning for Sergio. He leaned over, and Jason kissed him slowly, but it was too hot to go too far. His chest and arms were warmed because of the burns and he could feel the heat of the day settling over his skin.

“We’re only a couple days away from the forest,” Sergio commented, sitting back on his knees and toes and tossing Jason a new pair of pants and a different tunic. They hadn’t grabbed any long tunics or thobes, but Jason distantly missed them. The white pants and tunic were dusty, probably from being laid out on the sand so much, but Jason just shook them out and put them on. Sergio set his kufiya again, and then they worked at stuffing the bags with the clothing.

They walked closer then, back into their usual rhythm. Without the tension and more in tune to each other, now.

“How much do you know about Narvaez the Older?” Sergio asked one day, their arms brushing as they trudged through the sand.

Jason shrugs, “A little.”

“I bet he fucked the God,” Sergio grinned, his teeth showing and Jason couldn’t stop the appalled laugh that bubbled past his lips.

“Don’t say those things,” Jason said, nudging Sergio. “My mother is very religious.”

“Tell me about her, about your father.”

Jason purses his lips, thinks for a bit.

“My father was Michael Jones Lycus, he died when I was little, I don’t remember him. His siblings were all kind of weird; I think they all knew they were being passed by for a kid.” Jason rolled his shoulders and grimaced at the pain that spread through him at that movement. “My mother is named Theresa. She was banished from the kingdom for trying to curse it, I think. My grandmother used to say that a lot, she was a priestess, my mother. She talked more about the God than she ever did my father; I know more about Geoff Ramsey than I do Jones Lycus.”

Sergio snorted, linking his fingers with Jason’s. “Do you want to hear what we get told of your family?”

“Sure.”

“We hear of Lowell, most people just know he betrayed Eutimio, not the gritty details. We are told he was a good king who died old. Then,” Sergio’s grin lit his face again, all teeth and a little manic. “Everyone makes fun of Michael Jones Chares. They call him Chares the Lazy, Chares the Unkempt.”

Jason rolled his eyes and squeezed Sergio’s fingers a little _too_ much.

“Ouch—calm down. We hear of heroic Bion after Chares, of him going through what beloved Macario did. Our respect of your family comes back with Bion. We don’t know anyone after Bion, but we have murals in the city of Bion fending off Haywood attackers in the forest. We don’t know what he looked like, but all of you Jones boys look the same.” Jason rolled his eyes again at Sergio’s words, but accepted it.

“After Bion is Silvester, and after Silvester is Hector, after Hector is Lycus. After Lycus is—“

“—Jason!” Sergio exclaims, finishing for him and taking a hurried step forward and turning so he’s in front of Jason, placing both hands on the sides of Jason’s face and using his thumbs to pull the kufiya down enough to plant his lips on him.

It was weird and domestic and Jason decided he actually wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his godforsaken life in this awful desert as long as he had Sergio next to him. From around Sergio’s head, Jason spots what made Sergio get excited, distantly, in the horizon, are the beginnings of the green grassland. The forest was just a day or two walk beyond the grassland. If Jason wasn’t afraid of how much it’d hurt he’d pick Sergio up and spin him, instead, Sergio topples them over into the sand, Jason having to throw his arms out to keep himself from landing on Sergio.

They spend the night on grass. Sergio had never seen anything besides desert sand before.

“Your family was rich and could grow old, you have six ancestors to my 11. My father is the oldest one of us in years.” Sergio babbled, stomping when he walked because he was fascinated by the grass and how it crumbled under his shoes.

“Can you name them all?” Jason asked, keeping his eyes peeled for the edge of the forest. Their map had stopped when the grassland started, so now they were on their own.

“Of course. Narvaez the Older, Narvaez the Younger, Eutimio, Alfonso, César, Dimas, Ismael, Inocencio, Itzal, Macario, Nicodemo, Sandalio, Vasco.” Sergio listed on his fingers.

“And you,” Jason added, Sergio shook his head.

“I’m a second kid, I only go on the list if Vasco dies. Macario is a second kid, too, but Itzal was killed.” Sergio frowned. “I don’t want Vasco to die, just makes me feel like how your uncles and aunts feel.”

Jason frowned also, but dropped the conversation from his mind quickly because of what he saw next. “That’s it,” he breathed out, “the trees, that’s the forest. After them is the kingdom.” Poking up from the horizon, Jason could see the tree line slowly rising upwards. Sergio grinned from beside him, not his troublemaking grin, his real grin.

They got there a night later. Jason’s chest hurt just looking at it; Sergio had his head tilted back to see the tops of the trees. He could have collapsed right here, their journey was ended, they were here.

“How do we find your family?” Sergio asked loudly, eyes scanning through the trees in front of them.

“I know the way,” Jason said, exhaling loudly and letting his mind go back to when he knew the forest like the back of his hand. They moved around a lot, cycled between some little huts scattered in the thickest parts of the trees. At this time of the year, about mid-summer, they were in the one farthest from the castle. It was not only farthest from the castle, but most heavily surrounded by plants and trees. Easy to hide in, and easy to get people lost.

“Come on, I wanna get there before dark,” Jason said, wrapping a hand around Sergio’s wrist and leading the way. Sergio kept slowing him down, asking about things he was seeing, and Jason wanted to snap at him but, this was all new to him. He hadn’t been easy himself his first few years in the sand kingdom, he needed to allow some leeway.

At some point, Jason switched from pushing aside the brush with his hands to using the sword. He carried a curved blade, the same ones the people in the sand kingdom used. Sergio had a bow strung over his back, but they had used up all the arrows back in the desert. Sergio was the better fighter, always had been, but he would rather use the bow than a sword.

Pushing through some vines, Jason stepped into the clearing of the encampment. It had fallen dark by now, and Sergio crowded in at his back to peer around his shoulder. The fire in the middle was dying down, and the huts were closed for the night. One of the night guards turned at the sound of Jason coming through the vines, and he raised his sword.

Now, Jason thought of how he looked. Sergio had told him he looked like he had been skinned with how burned he was, and he knew his skin was peeling, but his face had been safe from the burn, so he couldn’t be too unrecognizable. His hair had lengthened, Sergio always cut it for him, so it curled a little at the ends near his ears, and it had some volume to it. It was the same dull red as all his ancestors had, and his face had only matured more. Sandalio one night had made a joke about Jason looking like the stereotypical Jones they had painted around the kingdom, and Sergio always made remarks about all Jones looking the same.

Sergio, he looked nothing like Sandalio or Vasco. His hair was darker than both of theirs, his skin was darker than theirs, and his eyes were darker than theirs. He sneered things about getting it from his mom whenever Jason mentioned it. His hair had been cut short when they began this journey, and now it had grown to something that was just long enough that he needed to mop it out of his eyes sometimes.

They both wore very thin desert clothing, it showed the wear and tear of their journey, and made them stand out. Jason raised his hands when the night guard approached, he could feel Sergio stiffen into a stance behind him.

“It’s me, Jason,” he said, pointing to himself. The guard paused at his words and narrowed his eyes. He glanced up and down Jason’s body, then stepped closer and tilted Jason’s head side to side. Finally, the guard sheathed his sword and smiled wide.

“We thought you were never coming back!” The guard nearly shouted, drawing Jason into a tight hug that made him wince at the pressure on his chest. The man hugging him didn’t notice though, and he wrapped an arm around Jason’s neck and dragged him over to the fire. “Wake up, everyone, Michael Jones Jason is back!” He bellowed, and Jason winced again.

Sergio had a hot hand underneath the edge of Jason’s tunic, planted firmly on his lower back. He was still crowding Jason’s back, but Jason was being preoccupied by the guard still.

The hut across from where they are standing opens, and Theresa steps out. Theresa had Jason young, but she was starting to get old. Her eyes widened when she saw him, and she came around the fire quickly to embrace him. It still hurt his chest and her arms knocked into Sergio when she threw them around Jason, but he didn’t allow himself to wince from the pain or take a glance back to figure out where Sergio was. Once her arms knocked into Sergio, he had taken a step back and his hand had slid away from Jason, distantly Jason recognized that he missed the contact.

Placing her hands on either side of Jason’s face, Theresa was crying. “I knew you’d be back,” she blubbered. “I knew you’d come back to us.” Jason smiled and leaned his head into one of her hands. The other huts were opening and people were patting his shoulders and back, little comments about how strong he was and how he’d aged floating to his ear.

“You look so much like your father,” his uncle crooned, dragging him away from his mom and crushing him into a hug. Jason’s eyes swept the crowd, looking for Sergio. He was just beyond the crowd. He looked awkward, and everyone was too focused on Jason to pay much attention to who he brought with him.

A few more hugs and cheek kisses, and then everyone had calmed down enough to either go back to bed or crowd around the fire. Jason had introduced Theresa to Sergio, and she had sat next to him by the fire and clasped his hands in her own. She switched to Spanish, and hers was stilted and accented next to the smoothness of Sergio’s, but he understood her and he slowed down his own speech so she could understand him. Jason knew because Sergio used to do the same thing to him, or he would snap at Vasco to slow down for him.

Jason spent time telling whoever else was still up about their journey, about the other kingdom, about what he did and learned those years he was gone. They told him some things, said the hunting parties had picked up again, his aunt broke it to him that grandmother had died a few years back, Jason accepted that quietly. He didn’t know how to react to it, really, he was sad but everyone around him was so jubilant that he couldn’t properly mourn.

Shortly after that, they all headed to bed. Sergio gravitated back over to him and clasped his elbow. Jason leaned into it, and Sergio took advantage of the closeness. His lips made contact with Jason’s ear, and he sped his Spanish back up and lowered his voice. Jason’s Spanish was fucking awful, but he normally understood whatever Sergio told him, just because he was used to the way Sergio pronounced things and he was the one who taught him, anyway.

Sergio was saying that Jason’s mother was nice, that his family was nice, but they were looking at him like some sort of savior. Theresa had been overbearing, and told him that he was the spark that’d make the kingdom just and right again. Jason frowned a little.

“She’s like that,” Jason said quietly, turning his head to look Sergio in the eye. “Don’t stress about it, we’ll figure it out.”

They were standing close, nearly pressed together, Sergio’s hand still on Jason’s elbow. Sergio’s eyes flicked down to Jason’s lips, and Jason had to grit his teeth to stop from moving forward. They were nearly fucking each other with just their eyes.

“Jason, there’s room in this hut!” Shouted one of his uncle’s kids, Priam, he remembers. Jason turns so he can see Priam and nods, smiling gratefully. Sergio drops his hand and takes a step back, aware of how they could come off.

“Is there enough room for Sergio, also?” Jason asks, striding over to the open door and peering in. Multiple people slept in the huts, they had mats made of hay and vines and leaves on the floor. It was comfortable, actually, and blankets were spread over them so it was better. Sergio crowded in at his back again, but Priam looked around a second, and then moved from where he was laying and laid next to his dad.

“Now there is,” he grinned at Jason, and rolled over to press his face into his dad’s arm. Jason probably could have told him that Sergio and he could just share a bed, but whatever worked.

It wasn’t until Jason was settled and everyone’s breathing had steadied that he realized how fucking whipped he was. All he could think about was how he felt exposed and cold and lonely without Sergio pressed against him, without Sergio tucked under his arm, without Sergio to whisper things to. He repeated stories Sergio had muttered into his skin until he fell asleep.

He was awakened, he doesn’t know how much later, but he is pulled awake by Sergio’s lips and tongue and hot hands all over him. Jason groans and Sergio swallows it to muffle the noise. The kiss deepens, Sergio was on his knees next to Jason’s mat making the angle awkward, but it didn’t stop him. Jason could only barely think enough to shoot a wild glance around to make sure no one was awake. Everyone’s breathing was still steady, and almost all of them were facing the other direction.

“Not here,” Jason croaks into Sergio’s ear, using a hand to grip the back of his neck and move him so he could reach Sergio’s ear.

“ _Dale_ ,” Sergio sighs in reply, a hand skimming Jason’s shirt up and dragging his nails along the waistline there. Jason’s breath hitched and he could feel Sergio’s grin against his temple. Sergio sits back, eyes roving up and down Jason, his fingers sitting underneath the waist of Jason’s pants. His eyes are questioning, asking for permission. Jason sighs and casts another look around the hut.

“Fine.”

Sergio’s grin felt like a spotlight, and Jason doesn’t know what exactly he was expecting the younger man to do, definitely not what he ends up doing.

He moves quietly, his knees parting Jason’s legs enough to sit in-between them. Jason’s throat is working hard, and his arms are limp besides him, he doesn’t know what to do with them. Sergio pushes Jason’s shirt up further, dragging his pants half down his thighs.

Jason’s only half-hard, their kissing had woken up his cock but not done much of anything else. Sergio wrapped a hand around Jason’s dick, his fingers were rough and calloused from his sword and bow and it made everything feel like a dream. He had spit in his hand before jerking Jason roughly.

And, then, as if he was trying to make Jason wake up the whole encampment, Sergio bent forward, placing a hand on Jason’s hip, and started sucking him off. Jason arched, and he had to slam a hand to his mouth to stop any noise coming out. It—He—Jason couldn’t even look down at Sergio without his eyes threatening to roll back into his head.

His other hand wound its way into Sergio’s dark hair, tugging lightly. Sergio continued his bobbing, he wasn’t taking much of Jason’s cock, but he was making up for it with the hand not holding down Jason’s hips.

Finally, Jason can’t take it anymore and he tugs Sergio up hard, Sergio being dragged off his dick with a lewd _pop_. Jason is too far gone to be worried about it, but Sergio pulls against the hand in his hair to survey the room. No one has seemed to have woken up, so he allows himself to be pulled flat against Jason.

The pressure on his skin hurts, but Jason can’t even bring himself to care. Sergio is mouthing the junction of Jason’s neck and shoulder, and Jason wraps a leg around Sergio’s hip to better position them. It only takes a few thrusts for Jason to cum, muffling his groan into Sergio’s shoulder. He slides a hand between them, giving Sergio a few tugs before he bites into Jason’s shoulder, moaning lowly and spilling onto Jason.

They lay still for a moment, getting their breathing under control. Sergio sits up and looks around for something to wipe themselves up with, but Jason just lifts an edge of the mat and wipes the mess on his hand onto it. He just covers the mess on his stomach back up with his shirt and pants. Sitting up he pulls Sergio close again.

“They’re going to give us new clothes tomorrow, anyway.” Jason says quietly, giving Sergio a short kiss and shoving at his side. Trying to tell him to go back to his own bed. Sergio obeys, a dreamy smile crossing his face before he pinches Jason’s cheek and creeps back over to his mat. Jason rolled onto his side and watched the people around him, checking for signs of anyone waking up for that. He didn’t find any, so he succumbed to the drowsiness that little escapade had put into him.

340

Sergio jogged into the hut, shaking snow out of his hair and yanking out the paper he had tucked in his heavy clothing. Sinking onto the pillow next to the low table and across from Jason, he spread it out between them.

“Almost missed him,” Sergio huffed, eyes sweeping over the kingdom map.

“What happened?” Jason asked, dipping a quill into some ink and marking the castle and writing notes on the side of the map.

“Haywood guards are patrolling outside the wall now,” Sergio said, unhooking his sheath from his side and laying it on the floor next to him. “I couldn’t give Pattillo the signal until they were around the corner. I thought he’d left.”

Jason frowned and tapped the table, thinking. “Think it’s because of our increased aggression?”

Sergio shrugged smoothly, scooting over closer to the fire place. He still wasn’t used to the cold, but he had somehow become one of the main trainers to the family, so he was constantly outside. “Sinclair only gave me the map, no extra gossip.”

Jason frowned deeper and set the quill down. He unfolded himself from where he was seated and crawled across to Sergio. Popping open the clasps of Sergio’s thick coat, he slid his hands through to his lover’s stomach. Sergio had hardened and thickened over the years, his muscles weren’t on Jason’s level, but were respectable in their own right.

Sergio made a humming noise and leaned forward to rest his head against Jason’s shoulder. Sergio’s hair had grown out since the last time he had it cut, and he had it tied back into a bun. His facial hair was growing out, it was a fuzzy, thick thing as of right now, but Jason would make him shave it before it got too long soon enough.

Jason’s hair was kept nice at the same length as usual, just around his ears. His beard growth was crappy, so he made sure it was well-shaved. He had only filled out more, his bulkiness made his mom sigh and tell stories of Lycus sweeping her off her feet. Sometimes, she would make comments about wanting grandkids and, Jason would make excuses to leave and would walk around the forest. Sergio always found him then, fingers brushing his hair back and kisses pecking his forehead and cheeks and nose.

If Jason was the brains of the rebellion, Sergio was the heart, he figured. Where Jason drew into himself Sergio provided words of encouragement and stories of bravery.  Sergio had blossomed in the forest, like being let out of the restrictive walls of the sand kingdom let him be his true self. The kids saw the two of them as some sort of mythological heroes, and even though the kingdom was banishing fewer people recently, some new lady was always around to try and snag them.

It was distracting, and they had had so little time together because of it. Sergio’s fingers were crawling up Jason’s thighs, his intentions clear. Here wasn’t a good place, but they’ve done worse.

A stomp on the wood outside the hut made them stiffen and pull away from each other, Jason turning to look at the door and Sergio turning towards the fire to fix his layers and re-clasp the coat.

“Jason, Sergio—there’s a hunting party starting through the forest!” It was a teen boy who stuck his head in, and Jason jumped to his feet.

“Which way are they going, do you guys know how many people are with them?” Jason grills, pulling on his own furs and grabbing his weapons. Sergio was slower to get up, stooping to grab his sheath.

“They’re heading the same way as the party from two nights ago, and they have about,” he pauses and thinks. “Maybe 10?” Jason frowns, but nods. An average number, he didn’t understand why they would still be sending people out—

“Wait,” Jason says to the kid, grabbing the door and opening it wider to look at him. “Tell everyone to hide, let Sergio and I handle this.” The kid frowns, but nods.

Jason let the door hang open, and turned to Sergio. He was giving him a questioning look, but didn’t make a move to oppose him.

“It’s suspicious,” Jason began, and Sergio nodded.

“I get it,” he says, tying his quiver to his belt next to his sheath.

Jason sighs and steps a little closer, lowering his voice. “I love you,” and Sergio’s lips quirk in that way they do when he’s pleased but trying to hide it.

“Let’s go mess with some Haywood nobility,” Sergio says, his grin showing his teeth. He steps out of the door and takes a few steps away, but stops and turns and shouts. “Oi, estoy enamorado.” He winks and jogs out to the edge of the encampment. Jason snorts and finishes tying his quiver and sheath, grabs his bow and jogs to catch up to the other man.

They are perched along the path, snow falling onto them. The horses carrying the nobles are loud, and Jason can hear them coming from around the bend. Sergio has his bow drawn, watching the corner. With the snow and their white furs, it would be hard to see the two of them.

Tapping Sergio’s shoulder, Jason tilts his head towards the bushes across the worn path. “I’m moving sides, you know what to do.” Sergio nods and crouches a little lower.

Jason lifts himself from the crouch just enough to scuttle across the path, keeping his eyes open for any nobles ahead of the rest of the pack. They waited in silence for a little longer, the noises getting closer and closer.

When they finally rounded the corner, Sergio didn’t wait for any cue. His first arrow pierces the hip of one of the nobles. The two of them weren’t hidden extremely well, but they expected some sort of trap. The noble wails, but Jason’s arrow connects with the shoulder of the person on the horse next to his when Jason notices what’s off.

Nobles tended to look the same, the six original families are the largest exceptions, and most others share similar looks and similar habits. These men are not similar to each other. Nobility only wear muscular when they came from a family that dealt in specific trades. The Jones family was muscular traditionally, but they were also supposed to be men of the forest. Most nobility had rounder stomachs and thick necks and hammy fingers. These men are _cut_. Jason had paused, his bow sinking as he narrowed his eyes at the cluster of horses. Sergio notices the pause, his own bow sinking.

The two “noble men” stop wailing abruptly. Maybe they figured out their ruse was up, or it was time for them to enact the trap. The two who were shot turn their horses and retreat down the path. The rest of them, seven of them, unsheathe swords. Jason and Sergio don’t move, waiting for them to move first.

Jason moves his bow onto his back, his sword sliding out slowly. The glint of it must have alerted them, because the men move their horses his way. This was not an equal fight. Jason was good though, and Sergio was right along with him. In a moment of bravery, maybe arrogance, Jason stands from the bush and steps onto the path. Sergio’s eyes catch his briefly, but they both turn away to focus on the fight. While Jason takes up a stance, Sergio’s bow lifts back up.

Jason’s sword is a falchion. It’s thick and short, but effective. The men on the horses are using sabres, so they were probably more comfortable staying on the horse. Sergio has begun his assault, shooting arrows into arms and chests. The men all crowd around Jason with their horses, trying to trap him in. He swings hard, his blade cleaving through one of the men’s legs. He narrowly avoided the slashes from some of the other men, rolling underneath a horse across from the man whose leg he had hit. Swinging around, Jason struck the man on that horse. The crack of his ribs under his sword made Jason’s face twist up.

Before any of them could regroup, Sergio had taken care of them. Jason had taken care of two; Sergio had taken care of five. Jason huffed and wiped his sword on his pants before sheathing it again. What a show-off.

Sergio stood and jogged over to Jason, his grin showing teeth. “Good thing you have me,” he smirked.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Please, I could have handled it.” They walked back to the encampment in silence, Jason still didn’t quite understand the point of that. Were they just too good? Why would Haywood send such crappy fighters as some sort of trap? It made him nervous. This could just be the calm before the storm.

The encampment for winter wasn’t big. It was three large huts, one for the dining and sitting around, one for sleeping, and one that Jason had appropriated for rebellion things. They had had two sleeping quarters, but everyone fit into one hut comfortably. He allowed people into the rebellion hut still, let them pitch ideas or whatever, but it was mainly just him in there thinking of ways to get the rebellion to spread.

Tonight, it was just him and Theresa. He was seated in his usual spot, a map in front of him. The castle was solid. Sergio only had one spot that he used to contact Sinclair. That was their best spot, but it was too well-watched. Sergio hadn’t been able to get to it recently. Theresa was knelt next to the fire, stirring a pot of stew. Jason’s frustration had gone up several notches recently, the progress they were making hampered heavily by anything the kingdom did. Their recruitment had trickled to a stop; the kingdom was killing more people than banishing, anymore. They were always only scraping by.

Sergio burst into the hut, shedding his coat and additional layers immediately. It was always too much weight and cloth for him. Once he was down to just a thick tunic and pants, he glanced between Jason and Theresa, who had both turned to look at him.

“Sergio, sit,” Theresa gestured to the seat across from Jason. “You’re just in time for some stew.” He smiles (forced, Jason can tell) at her and nods.

“Thank you,” and then he sits quietly across from Jason. He has something to say, his fingers are twitching on the table and he keeps looking at Jason and then dropping his gaze to the map between them.

The three of them sit in silence, Theresa finally gets bowls and ladles some stew in both of them. Sergio smiles at her again and nods his thanks when she sets one in front of him. Jason’s is set off to the side, though he was more focused on Sergio than the map still sat in front of him. Theresa is taking a step towards sitting down next to them when Sergio talks again.

“Theresa, can Jason and I talk alone?”

She frowns and glances at Jason, who has narrowed his eyes at Sergio. Shrugging, she steps back over to the fire and ladles herself out some stew and backs out of the hut. She pauses, and throws another glance at Jason. He nods at her, and she lets the door close.

Clearing his throat, Jason sets his quill down and waits for whatever Sergio has to say.

“I need to go into the kingdom,” Sergio rushes, hands fisted on the table either side of the bowl. Jason laughs, thinking it’s a joke, until Sergio’s glare silences him.

“Are you kidding?” Jason asks, Sergio doesn’t reply except for his glare.

“Why in the world do you need to go into the kingdom?” And Jason can feel his uneasiness bubble into anger.

“We aren’t making any progress here, like this; we need more contacts in the kingdom. Nothing gets past the walls, the rebellion needs a network inside.” His tone is all business, it’s like he’s talking down to Jason.

“Do we really need that?” Jason begins, but Sergio cuts him off.

“Look at yourself!” He gestures wildly at Jason. “How long have you been staring at that map? How much have any of these maps helped at all? We wouldn’t have any real man power anyway!”

Jason tenses, his fingers curling against the edge of the table. “Are you kidding me? And the solution is you heading into the kingdom, the kingdom of the king from a family that has done nothing except try and wipe your existence out?”

“What we are doing now hasn’t done enough. We need to do something new.” Sergio says, leaning forwards, his stew dangerously close to him.

“I can’t just send you in there, it’s a fucking death trap.” Jason nearly yells. He’s about to lash out, and he knows it.

“No one else can go, it’s either you or me. Your people need you. Sinclair has said already that he’ll help me out. I can do it.” He’s serious, all of his bravado and posturing is gone. It made Jason more riled up.

Jason’s jaw clenches, he tries to take some breaths in through his nose and to stop the stinging words he’s about to say. He fails.

“And what are going to do in there? You’re just a second kid. Not even on the list, if you were Vasco maybe it’d be different. You aren’t though, you aren’t even in the running for the throne. And, you’re going to trust a Pattillo? There’s a damn good reason Sinclair is in the city and a damn good reason none of the kings have ever put a hit out on any Pattillo. All they do is save themselves, he’s probably slobbering to get you to Callahan as soon as possible.”

Sergio flinches back and then surges forward. He knocks the bowl of stew over, soaking the front of his tunic and the map and Jason’s lap. Neither of them acknowledges it, Sergio fisting Jason’s tunic and yanking him towards him.

“Fuck you, Jones. How _dare_ you! How dare you say that to me, do you know how many times I saved your ass while we were at the other kingdom? You would be dead in the sand if it weren’t for me. This is the trust you give me after all I’ve done for you?” Sergio scoffs and releases Jason, shoving him back to where he had been sitting. He stands and walks over to the fire. His hands clenching and unclenching.

Jason takes a few calming breaths, swallowing hard and rubbing his face.

“Fine.”

 


End file.
